Some places feel designed for weddings. Others quietly earn it.
Toria and Matt were married in Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan, at Jinya, a traditional wedding venue quietly tucked away behind residential streets, almost easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it. The day moved gently through its spaces, each with its own atmosphere: a ceremony in the Takekawa Room, a reception at Genjikan, and an after-party at Fugetsudo. Together, the spaces felt connected but distinct, mirroring the way the day unfolded.
In the Matsukaze Room, Toria and her bridesmaids were stretched out on the futon, half getting ready, half forgetting there was a schedule at all. There was laughter, teasing, and a low-key pillow fight that felt more like a pause than a party. The kind of moment that only happens before everything begins. Just down the hall in the Wisteria Room, Matt sat quietly, writing his vows. No noise, no rush. Two very different kinds of calm, happening at the same time.
We shot on an overcast day, the kind that softens everything without calling attention to itself. The light stayed gentle throughout, steady and calm. The venue is surrounded by more trees than you’d expect, especially given how close it is to a residential area. They give the space a sense of privacy, as though the rest of the world has agreed, briefly, to keep its distance.
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Toria and Matt’s ceremony at the Takekawa Room felt simple in the best possible way. They stood close, surrounded by wood, light, and the quiet presence of everyone who mattered most. They stumbled slightly over the Japanese vows, smiled through it, and kept going. It made everything feel more real. The room held the sound of their voices, the quiet emotion, the sense that something important was happening without needing to be announced.​
The private Japanese garden just beyond the glass sliding doors became a highlight. I was allowed to step across the stones for closer, more intricate shots, though I had to be careful not to disturb the white gravel. The space seemed to demand a certain restraint. Bonsai trees were placed carefully throughout the garden, each one deliberate. Inside, as with most traditional Japanese rooms, the light was warm and contained, beautiful on its own, but slightly challenging when I framed the interior and exterior together, two very different atmospheres meeting in the same shot.
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The reception at Genjikan began quietly, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Personal letters were read aloud, and the room softened almost immediately, even Toria saw her father cry for the first time. Between laughter and tears, everyone moved into games and a traditional mochi-making ceremony that brought people together without needing much explanation. Later, the night shifted to Fugetsudo. Cocktails and exotic drinks were poured, music filled the space, and before long it wasn’t just friends dancing, but kids and elders too, all sharing the same floor, the same rhythm, well into the night.
Both venues are close to each other and easy to navigate. It’s almost impossible to get lost—unless you’re genuinely very bad with directions. The only real challenge for me was the Fugetsudo area. It’s a beautiful space, but dimly lit. The low light creates a strong sense of atmosphere, though it makes filming more difficult. I ended up using an LED light to lift my subjects out of the darkness, which worked better than I expected. They stood out clearly, without losing the mood of the space. Overall, it’s a stunning venue, and I’d be glad to work here again.
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